La Pucelle d'Orléans
by Jeice Lover
Summary: Gazing into the annals of history, there are many records documenting the connections between certain people. However, some of the strangest of connections remain shadowed throughout history. Now, a touch of light is shone into the relation between the present day weapon of the Paladin, and one of her past wielders, a mighty French maiden martyr. A Caliburn-centric fic


Previously posted on my tumblr account, now making it available to see here on fanfiction, I hope you reading it enjoy a small look into a very underexamined demon.

–

The day's dusk came softly, as the brilliant colors of the gold-orange-crimson sunset faded to hues of violet and blue, then to a soft gray. It was in this gray time of evening, just before all faded to black and the stars threw away the restrictions to their shine, that the soldiers came riding over the hill.

Royal soldiers, they were, clad in the color of the king's men. They rode over the hill, onto the plain, until they reached the collections of tents and fires that made up the army camp. Men going about such evening chores as weapon polishing and cooking paused in their actions, watching the newcomers ride into their camp, only stopping when they reached the commander's tent. When the men of the camp realized who these newcomers were, and what must have been in the dark, oblong box one of the two unloaded from his horse's back, they all averted their eyes respectfully. This was none of their business to lay eyes upon, not yet.

"My lady," one of the soldiers spoke quietly, "we found it." There was a quiet rustling on the other side of the tent flap, until at last it was open, and the face of a beautiful young woman emerged in the opening of the tent flap.

"...Bring it in," she said simply. The men obeyed, and they followed her into the tent, letting the flap fall closed behind them. They moved where they were directed, and placed down the package on a makeshift table.

"It was exactly where you said it would be found, Lady Arc," one of the men said. "Beneath the altar of Saint Catherine de Fierbois. It took us an entire day to move aside the altar, and there it was."

"Ah, but it was not I who said it would be there," the lady smiled peaceably. It was my voices who said so." Without so much as another word, she went to the box and opened it up. There it was. Crafted from bronze do bright, it almost glowed in the dim light of her candles. Each edge was as sharp as could possibly be, looking able to split a hair clean down the middle, all the way down its length. There was neither a speck of dust nor a chip in the metal as far as one could see upon it.

"It was exactly like this when we found it beneath the stones of the altar. Not even a speckle of earth clung to it. This blade that you have sent for us to find, it is magic, it truly is," the soldier spoke in awe. To his surprise, the young woman only smiled enigmatically, then shook her head.

"You are wrong, my good soldier," she murmured. She stepped past the two and laid her hands upon the blade, feeling the cool metal beneath her fingertips. "This sword's power comes not from magic, not at all." She took a firm grip on the handle of the blade, and lifted it out of its wool-lined casing. It appeared as though it ought to be impossible for someone so petite as she to lift it, but lift it she did, and she stood before these two men, now seeming to glow with the same sort of heavenly light as the blade she now held. "No... this blade's power comes from the goodness of God," she smiled. "And now, to follow and carry out His will, it has come to me."

–

The Maid of Orleans slept soundly in her makeshift bed some hours later. One of the many masses she had sanctioned to be held for her army started the next morning. She wanted to be certain she would be fully awake to revere God to her fullest.

However, she stirred as she felt a disturbance invade her senses. It felt as though someone were shining a light on her slumbering face.

When the maid opened her eyes, she realized that it was indeed a light. Bright as a star, emitting right from the sword which lay on the table of her tent. Even as she watched, there appeared to be something emerging from the metal. The young woman lay on her blankets, watching with awe. This was just as magnificent as her visions of he saints and angels, was she about to receive another holy message?

With one last, blinding flash, the light finally dimmed, leaving a flow one might only see by candle-light. However, the light had also left something behind. Before her stood a small girl, only a child, with warm, hazel eyes and a head full of thick, chestnut curls.

"Lady Joan of Arc, it is a pleasure to meet you at last." A little voice, sweeter and clearer than the bells of a church on a winter's Sunday morning, escaped a pair of gently smiling lips. Any other might have cried out in fright or shock, having seen such a spectacle. However, this was not the case with the Maid of Orleans.

"...Who are you, child?" Joan asked softly. "From whence did you come? I know that you are not one of my visions, nor are you my voices. This is too different from any of those times before."

"You are a very wise woman," the child answered, still appearing serene and calm. "I am no angel nor am I a saint." She motioned to the large sword from which she had appeared. "I am Caliburn, I inhabit the blade which lies here." She looked to the young woman and smiled. "And now, as my blade belongs to you, so do I." Lady Arc watched the young girl with a careful, critical eye.

"I...I have never before heard of a holy weapon which is inhabited by a child," she said quietly. Upon hearing these words, the girl from the sword drooped visibly, shoulders slumping and eyes falling to the ground.

"That is because... my blade is not holy... and neither am I." Her hands, which had been out of view since she had appeared, were now moved in front of her, clearly showing ten incredibly sharp claws. There was a slight shifting about the waist of her dress, and a long, furry snake-like thing dropped about her legs. A long, white-furred tail like a cat's, only with a tuft at the end. Finally, she brushed her curly locks away from the sides of her face, revealing ears that tapered off to small, faerie-like points.

"...You're-"

"Yes, you are right. I am a demon." All traces of calm were gone from Caliburn's face, replaced by a deep, sorrowful expression. Far too pained for someone of her youthful appearance. "By my heritage, I am nothing more than pure evil. A despicable creature who only serves to spread destruction and corruption." She smiled again, but this one was filled with sadness. Large, shiny tears silently rolled down her unblemished, youthful cheeks. "That is what all humans think of us, isn't it?"

"...I do not understand," Joan said aloud, still examining the girl before her who claimed to be a demon. "My voices told me that my blade could be found beneath the altar of the church. A heaven-sent weapon, placed there by angels."

"But- But it _was_ angels who hid me away there, mistress," the girl gasped aloud. "I... while I was trapped in my deepest, darkest pit, drowning in hopelessness and despair, a holy light came and shone upon my poor, unworthy being." Her eyes were bright an earnest, still shimmering with unshed tears. "They came to me and placed their hands upon me, and said that God almighty had sent to me a chance. A single chance with which I could prove myself as different form my faithless demon brothers and sisters.

"The angels said that I could be granted a chance to lose my horns and replace my tail with wings. If I would only come here to earth, so that I could serve one of God's most holy messengers on this earth. My Lady Arc." She fell down to her knees, burying her face in her hands. "Please, please, I beg you to take me up as your blade. Forge a contract with me under the Lord's name, so that I may prove for once and for all that I am not simply a creature of murder." After this, her words dissolved into inarticulate sobs, which were so heavy that they made her thin shoulders shake.

There was a silence in the tent then,broken only by the sounds of the tiny demon's pitiful tears. Then, the young Frenchwoman came forward and knelt beside her, and placed a comforting hand on the girl's trembling shoulder.

"...When I was a child, I always felt pity for the faeries in the woods of my village, as the priest always condemned them as evil and vicious. Yet, all that they ever did was make a tree for we children to play upon, and they were our friends." Caliburn still wept, face in her hands, but her sobs dimmed in volume a touch. "Our priest finally cast a blessing on the place they lived, and they were forced to go. All of the children wept for days, because we knew that the faeries had never done any harm, despite how they were proclaimed to be creatures of Satan. And I pitied them, because though they were the ones who most needed prayers for salvation, they were cursed instead.

"I know that God and his angels work in strange and magnificent ways, yet I have learned to trust in Him." She stared intently at the tiny brunette before her. "And if He and my voices have sent you to me, then I will trust in Them with all of my heart, just like all the other times. Little demon of the sword, from beneath the altar of Saint Catherine de Fierbois, in the Lord's mighty name, I will make a contract with you. To save France, and to help you to prove your worthiness of mercy."

"You... You are willing to make a contract with me? A great, wise, God-sent messenger of goodness, to a pathetic creature such as myself?" When Joan nodded, she found herself clung to by the waist, the little demon burying her face into her tunic. "Oh thank you, thank you! Bless your soul, my kind, beautiful lady. I promise, I shall serve you faithful and true! I swear it!"

At this, she could say no more, and she broke into tears once more. Joan only nodded and patted the demon's curly locks gently, murmuring gentle words to soothe her. However, unbeknownst to the French girl, all was not as it appeared to be. With the little demon's face hidden in her chest, she could not see her little, sharp-toothed grin. And she could not even hear the hints of light laughter hidden in-between the demoness's fake sobs.

–

"Sinful harlots! Temptresses of lust!" The sharp sound of a hard surface slapping against soft skin sounded in the otherwise quiet evening. The fearful shrieks of women could be heard by all who were in the area. A small group of women fled from the army camp, tears in their eyes as they clutched revealing clothes to their chests. Behind them, the maiden general stood at the edge of the army camp. The large blade whose flat she had been using to strike them was held threateningly above her head. "And don't ever return, you insolent wenches! Take your sinful adultery with you!"

_Goodness, that was rather harsh. I don't believe I have ever seen my lady so violent before~_ Joan frowned at her blade as she lowered it, eyes narrowed.

"Those women come time and time again, selling their bodies to the men and luring them to adultery. I refuse to let it stand. This is a holy army of God, and I intend to keep it that way." Her eyes still blazed with a righteous fire as she looked up again, glaring at where the vague outlines of the prostitutes could still be seen.

_My, how truly righteous my lady is~ And so terribly **forceful**~ You certainly do know how to assert your authority, my lady~_ Joan gave her sword an incredulous look.

"I do not enjoy having to do this, but I must in order to keep these men with their hands and their minds towards God alone. However, Caliburn, I have noticed that you always seem to grow excited if we should come to some form of violence." There came a sigh from the blade and, at last, a familiar small child appeared before her.

Caliburn appeared different from how she had been when they first met. Basically she was still the same, but there were not a few sparse locks of soft, downy blonde amongst the crushes of her thick, chestnut curls. At first, Joan hadn't thought much of it, but began to notice increasingly more as the amount of blonde present grew. Particularly because the color was the exact same as Joan's own. However, as there were far more important matters to attend to, she refrained from saying anything.

"I apologize, I do know it must make me sound so terribly bloodthirsty to say such things. I simply can't help myself. It is a part of my nature which I am not proud of." The impish cheerfulness from moments ago was gone, replaced by a tone and expression of pitiful sorrow. It was odd how her emotions could shift so quickly, almost suspiciously so. "You remember I once served an English king as well, and their executions were always treated as festivals. Heartless, I know, but after hundreds of years it is simply difficult to lose some ways of thinking."

The little demoness looked so forlorn and wilted that even the young general's fiery gaze cooled to mere embers. She exhaled a short breath and simply went to the girl. Caliburn looked up curiously when the Frenchwoman laid a single hand atop her head, patting her blonde-speckled chestnut head.

"You are trying, Caliburn, I know that. Simply do what the Lord has given you a chance to. Shed off your baser instincts, and show your resolve to become pure and holy." Caliburn stared at her, earthy eyes shining. Then, Joan had a pair of tiny arms around her waist, and a face pressed into her chest.

"Ooh~ Thank you ever so much, my lady~ I swear to you, I _will_ work my hardest~ I will~ So that I may one day be as blessed as you~"

Joan gained a startled expression for a moment, but finally smiled and patted the head of the little demon clinging to her. Still, even as she smiled and held the little body nuzzling against her, there were no suspicions in her mind about the devious smirk and evil glint in the smaller girl's eye, both hidden in the warm, happy hug the demoness was giving her.

–

The 'clang's of clashing metal hung about the air, alongside the heavy stench of fresh, coppery blood. The cries, battle-sounds, weapon clashes, and roars of the fighting men mised together, creating a sound possibly the closes one might get to the tortured sounds within the fire and brimstone.

_Your men are faltering~_ Caliburn hummed from her place in her sheath. Joan sat astride her horse, armor glinting in the light. _If you are forced to retreat now, not only will my lady lose the battle, your men shall lose their morale as well~_

"You sound rather chipper, in spite of this," Joan murmured quietly in response. "Almost as though you would _enjoy_ seeing such a thing happen."

_We have no time to discuss idle matters_ Caliburn said, speaking as though she hadn't heard a word. _If we do not act now, the fight will be lost, and then what will you do?~_ Joan stared down at the battle, unconsciously gripping at the blade's handle. _I think my lady knows what must be done, whether she likes it or not~_ The young woman glared at the scene below her, face a mask of deep contemplation. However, the concentration soon turned to determination. Her eyes closed and her fingertips went to the hilt of the sword.

"By my God's holy name, I invoke this request," she murmured, running her fingers up the handle until she reached the engraved knob at the end. "My holy blade, Caliburn," her fingers went about the handle in a tight, hard grip, "lend me thy strength."

_As you wish, my lady fair~_ Caliburn giggled. With a swift pull, Joan pulled Caliburn free of the scabbard at her hip, and held Caliburn in both hands, face set and hardened. _Yay~ My lady looks so beautiful and powerful~ If only you had longer hair, you would be absolutely perfect~_

"We have no time for idle chatter, Caliburn," Joan replied sharply. Upon pulling Caliburn from her sheath, the young woman felt energized. As though raw power had been pulsed through her veins, so that all of her senses sharpened, and she felt as though she could defeat a thousand men on her own, so long as she held that blade in her hand. "I must aid my men now, before the tides have turned against us for good."

_My lady knows what much be traded, if she wishes for more strength~_ Caliburn said simply. Joan nodded just a touch. She knew. With one smooth movement, she brought the large blade up behind her head, and took as much of her short hair that she could hold with her free hand. In a flash of moving metal, the hair she held was cut free of her head, then vanished in a chain of small, crackling flashes of light. Caliburn sounded delighted. _Ooh~ That will do very nicely~_

"Then," Joan slid off of her horse, eyes narrowed, "let us begin." In a swift breeze of movement, the maiden was in the midst of the fray. She slashed left and right, letting the speed carry her movements. None of the English soldiers knew what was happening. One moment they were winning, driving the French back into their lines. Then, suddenly, it was they who were besieged. It seemed as though they were being attacked by some invisible force. Men went down screaming as they clutched at deep gashes in chests and limbs, though no enemy weapons could be seen to have touched their flesh.

"Witchcraft!" One of the soldiers shouted. "The bastards are using black magic to aid them! Everyone fall back!" With shouts of fear, the Englishmen began to fall back. Still, Joan continued to zip about, if only to finish spreading the panic which had caused the enemy to flee.

However, just as Joan was about to return to her horse, where she would re-sheath Caliburn and act as though she had only been observing the entire time, she felt a sharp, piercing pain in her leg. A sharp cry of pain escaped her lips, and she was back on her horse, clutching at her thigh. She had no idea if it was her own doing or not, but Caliburn was re-sheathed.

_What happened?_ Asked the sword. _Are you injured_? Joan looked down at her leg and grimaced. The shaft of an arrow protruded from her thigh, while the head was buried into her flesh. There was no blood, though. Caliburn had mentioned this once, that there was a magic of her scabbard to keep a wielder from bleeding.

"Yes, I think one of the enemy's stray arrows must have caught me by chance. I-"

"My lady!" At that moment, Joan was forced to close her mouth, as one of the men under her command rode up. He gasped and dismounted his steed, looking at the injury. "You are injured! What happened?!" Joan only winced as she gently prodded the flesh around the wound.

"N-no need to worry, I will be alright," she assured him. "The English... their archers have much more skill than I believed. To think that one of their arrows could reach me all the way over here on my hilltop..." The lie came quickly from her lips, without much thought on her part, but the man believed her nonetheless.

"Please ride back to the camp and go to see the doctor, we can take all the rest from here on our own." Joan nodded her assent to his suggestion, and turned her horse around to begin her ride back to their army's camp. She left the arrow in, so that the doctor could remove it all properly, and she could feel the stinging pain of it with each of her horse's steps.

As she rode on, she heard a small peal of merry laughter, in a voice she recognized as Caliburn's.

_Well, that was certainly fun~_

–

Even here, in her dank, bleak prison cell, it seemed as though nothing could dim the maiden's unearthly aura of inner peace. Despite the cold, dark, poor food, and numerous failed advanced upon her by the guards, it seemed as though nothing could possibly dim her spirits. She had been leaning back against a wall, attempting to rest as best as she could in her situation, but was interrupted by a bright light being shone in her face.

"You have returned, then," Joan greeted simply.

"Indeed I am~" Caliburn hummed as the light she produced dimmed to nothing.

"So, what words to you bring? What do the people know of my situation? And that of my sword?"

"Well, to get your latter out of the way first, it appears as thought most people have some sort of rumor floating about amongst them. They seem to believe you broke my sword in two while chasing away a prostitute." Caliburn giggled at the thought, but then went on upon seeing the look on her wielder's face. "In any case, I also went to look in on the headquarters of the French army, to see if there was a plan to have you rescued." She gave Joan a cheery smile. "There is not~" The maiden sighed, looking down at her hands.

"I see..." she murmured. Caliburn sighed and sat upon the pile of straw that was meant to serve as a prisoner's bed.

"Honestly, I simply do not understand why you simply sit there and look so dower. You will ruin your precious youthful looks like that~ Remember, you have me~ Simply say the word, pick up my blade, and you could be free of this dreadful place in moments~"

"I will not be escaping, Caliburn." The blonde child who was formerly a brunette blinked twice, staring right at her wielder.

"Come again?"

"Last night, I had a dream, my voices spoke to me as I slept. They told me much, including what I must do now." She closed her eyes, looking for all the world like an angel of divine grace. "I am meant to take up a role not unlike that of my Lord's son. I shall sacrifice my earthly body here, in order to rally my people to have their victory."

"You intend to become a martyr, then?" Caliburn asked, warm, earthy eyes looking at her lady with concern. "That does not sound very benevolent of God, telling you that you must allow yourself to die in order to complete his will."

"It cannot be helped, some sacrifice on the part of one is necessary in order to bring peace to others. I have learned that." She paused, then gazed at Caliburn meaningfully. "...Alongisde one or two other truths, which have finally been revealed to me fully."

"Oh~? And just what truths might those be, my lady?~"

"You can spare me your sugary titles now, Caliburn. I know that they are nothing more than words without meaning." Caliburn tilted her head cutely, but then broke into a fit of childish giggles.

"So my ruse of innocence is finally seen through then, is it?~ Oh well~" Caliburn kicked out her bare feet and brushed aside her blonde locks with a sharp, black claw.

"Yes, I have realized that now, and so much more." Joan bowed her head as she spoke. "Since that day I made a contract with you, I realize now that I have cast a blind eye on many of the ways you act: you laugh at others' pain; you take pleasure in the idea of violence; your pleasant dreams are filled with bloodshed. I chastise myself now for not recognizing it myself sooner."

"You ought not feel too badly, Joan of Arc," Caliburn hummed. "I have fooled many other wielders, many of whom were older, wiser, and far stronger than you. Though I have had few whose _will_ was quite so strong~ _That_ is what truly drew me to you, you know~"

"So I have reasoned," Joan sighed. "So, how was it you came to me in my dreams, like my angels and my voices? I do know now that it was most definitely not they who told me of you in my dreams. Was that more of your doing?"

"Correct~ Like your angels do, I came to you as you slept, and murmured into your ear, hinting as to where you might find me~ Then I hid myself under that altar, and the rest, as they say, is history~" Though Caliburn could tell that the _real_ angels who had been speaking to Joan all this time were _quite_ unhappy with her impersonation of them.

"I see..." The maiden was quiet for a moment, and the only sounds around them were the rusty 'creaks' and irregular, moist 'plop's of the dungeon. "...Caliburn, by everything I know of you now, and all that you have told me, I should be very, very angry at you... But I find that I am not."

"Is that so?" Caliburn asked with a mildly amused expression on her face, chin resting in her palm.

"No, I am not." Joan looked at her, through her, with a calm, piercing gaze. "Your reasons were selfish, but you aided the causes of both God, and the French people. My contract with you allowed me the power to rally my troops, and to fight in my God's name. Thanks to you, the people look to me as a symbol of hope, and shall be rallied to win by my death. All of this is because of you, though your reasons were selfish, and so I must thank you for that."

"Such a flattering truth you speak~" Caliburn murmured, looking dreamily into space. "...You know, I _have_ told you many lies, before and since we made our contract. However, I can say honestly that what I told you a touch earlier was no lie." She opened her eyes, and warm, earthy loam stared into intelligent, sharp sky. "You do not need to stay here and wait to die. Lies or not, I am still under contract with you. Simply say the word and you can be free of this place. You can run, and with me at your side, you can be free as a bird, and do whatever it is you please~"

"...I believe that you are telling me the truth," Joan murmured to the demoness in the straw. "I do believe you, but... I will not be accepting your help this time, Caliburn."

"You won't?" Caliburn looked at the woman with a genuinely curious expression. That was odd? And not what she wanted at all. She wanted Joan as a wielder a while longer, so that she could feed off of that strong, delectable willpower for so much more time. "Well, why not? Have you grown tired of living? I thought that that was the reason you fought at all."

"No, I want to live, just as any other human, Caliburn... But, I would rather have death by my God's grace, rather than live upon the sways of a demon. Caliburn, I thank you now for all that you have done for me, but... I believe now is when we must part ways." Caliburn gazed at her wielder, earthy eyes unnaturally bright in the gloom of the cell. Finally, though, Caliburn simply smiled, and her face was sincere.

"If that is truly what my lady wishes~"

–

The day of the execution, the sky was coated in a dense, gray gloom. Despite this, a sizeable crowd had gathered to view the proceedings. It almost seemed to be the set of a performance. The light was low, the crowd had congregated, the executioners and nobility took their places of honor, and, finally, there was the star.

Arms behind her back as a set of heavy ropes knotted about her wrists and body, holding her with her back to the large, wooden beam which forced her upright. A loose, flowy dress replaced the men's clothes which all knew her to wear, and her short-cropped locks tapered down to her chin and framed her delicate features. She looked small, beautiful, and strong.

There were a few final words, the priests offered the young maiden a last chance to denounce her words and plead guilty to her crimes against them, her utterly blasphemous claims. But there was no altering her conviction. Either they accepted her words and realized the error of their ways, repent for their attempts of capturing France, or they give her what they believed a just punishment.

They did not choose the former. A torch was lit, and the wood about the girl's feet followed suit soon after. The wood was dry and there was no wind, the flames spread quickly. Upwards they climbed, overtaking each new log and twig their destructive fingers reached for.

Suddenly, the girl cried out to the crowd, just as the gold-and-orange ringers began to brush at her legs. From her mouth, her voice rang clearly for all present to hear. With her last breaths, she called out to all of them as a fellow sinner, one who would proclaim the might of God and His son. Then, just as the flames came to overtake her, she shouted out the holy son's name thrice, and was silent, looking skyward as the flames began to redden, then blister her flesh.

As the flames reached for her body, it seemed that the gloom of the sky shattered, and a blinding light shone from above. Many panicked, some shrieked and fell to their knees. They had made a grave mistake in doing this, they realized now. A couple of the men ran for the well, intending to haul up water with which they could douse the flames. However, before this could be done, the light faded as quickly as it flashed, and was gone, leaving behind only a scorching blaze that was too hot for any to approach.

It was only when the flames had died away that they dared approach. There was nothing left now. Nothing but a pile of hot, black-and-white wood ash, and the heat-shriveled, blackened husk of a body. None of them would even dare to speak of what had occurred there that day. In the history books, the only thing that happened was the burning of a witch. Or, later, a saint.

–

Caliburn couldn't help but laugh at the humans from up on her grassy hilltop. Really, they were so simple to fool, why shouldn't she laugh? All it took was a bit of light, and they acted as though the End Times were upon them.

She glanced beside her in the grass, looking to where Joan was laid out in the heather. Oh well, surely that baker wouldn't miss his daughter _too_ terribly much~ He had two more anyhow, so what was one gone? Her death had been for a good cause, after all. With her taking the place of the Maid of Orleans in the pyre, a hero of the French would live, and Caliburn was able to continue her plans. It was simply a win on two sides. Certainly not on the bakers' daughter's side, but two wins were better than one~

Sure, Joan had been a bit injured in the process (there being burns on her feet and lower legs), but what was that compared to her life? Caliburn certainly _could_ have just obeyed and let her die, but she was simply too selfish for that~

Now, for just one last step...

–

The rain came down hard on the small cottage, drenching everything without in a torrent of icy water. Inside the small home, however, it was warm and perfectly dry. The owner of the cottage, a wood carver, sat in a chair by the fire, whittling a small block of wood into the shape of a miniature horse. It was a simple activity, but it kept one's mind off of the loneliness of his home of one.

Just as he had begun to work on the face of his small creation, he jumped when there was a heavy pounding on his front door.

"Hello?! Is there anyone in?! Please! Please, we need help!" A young, panicked voice sounded through the house, and the carver looked up in concern. He quickly placed down his work and went to open the door. When he got there, he found two people on his doorstep: a young, beautiful woman who was collapsed in his doorway, and a tiny child who might have been her sister, or daughter. "Oh! Thank goodness you're in, sir! I thought we might never find someone!"

"What is going on here? Why is that woman fallen?" he asked with worry in his voice.

"Please let us in! My sister is very hurt, she needs to be cared for quickly! Please sir!" The young man bit his lip, and looked between the two.

"...Alright, you go on inside, and I'll haul your sister in." The little girl's eyes lit up thankfully, and she scurried inside as ordered. Once she was out of the way, he went and carefully picked up the woman lying on the ground. She was slightly heavier than he had expected, given her size, but he got her in nonetheless.

The tiny girl stood close to his small hearth, dripping as though she had just been dunked in a barrel. Although, the woman he carried wasn't any better off. His clothes were soaking through just from carrying her.

"Oh, thank you so much for letting us into your home, kind sir," the child gushed. "We would certainly have been drowned outside, had you not let us in."

"Well, I could never let my fellow man be kept out in the storms to drown. It would not be right," the carver smiled. "But, we are not out of the woods just yet. We need to get you both out of those clothes, before you catch your death of cold."

There was a small amount of thought that went into this, but it worked itself out. One of his shirts was big enough to act as a dress for the little one, once the sleeves were rolled up. And his smallest set of shirt and pants just about fit the young woman. Not really younger than him, though. She was really about his age, by appearance. It was just her calm, clear face that made her seem so youthful. She was very young-looking, and very pretty besides that.

Once they had all changed (himself included, as he had gotten wet while carrying the young woman), the carver fetched some bread and cheese, and put a kettle over the fire to boil water as they sat beside the hearth. The older of his two visitors was laid out on a few blankets he had taken from his own bed, placed down by the fire so that she might warm up as well.

"Thank you very much again for letting us into your home, sir," the child mumbled through delicate nibbles of bread and cheese.

"As I said before, it's no trouble at all," the carver answered. "But, now that you're both safe, I need to ask you a few things." Such as why two girls were out on their own in the middle of a torrent like this one.

"Oh, right. I apologize. I was not thinking..." the child gazed at the dirt floor of the carver's small home. "We... my sister and I, we were in our home with our mother and father. We were at home, and there were English troops who came to our home-"

"English? This far south?" the carver asked, sounding alarmed.

"Right. They came to our village, and they ransacked our home and our land. They came at evening, just before the storm came. And... and they..." Tears welled up in the little girl's eyes, and her tiny pink lips trembled. "They... they killed our mother, then our father. We were hiding in a cupboard, so the English did not find us. But, they took our food and valuable things. Then..." she cut off with a short, choked sob, and the food in her hands fell into the lap of the long shirt she wore. "They... they burnt down our home. They just lit it aflame and left it to burn to cinders and ashes."

"...I am so sorry," the carver murmured. He had heard of the brutality of the English troops, as had all peasants, who were effected by this war. But to do this for the simple sake of looting? He was a peaceful man at heart, but hearing a tale like this just made his blood boil. He thought that the child would not be able to continue, but she did. Through choking sobs and teary eyes.

"My sister and I managed to get out before we were burnt up as well, but she got her legs burnt while we got out." Well, that explained the angry red-blistered flesh along the young woman's legs. "The English went back the way they had come, so we were able to escape down the road this way. My sister's legs were hurting her, but she would not stop until we had made it to a safe place. And we made it here... but my sister collapsed before we could get here all the way. I had to drag her up to the doorstep."

"Well, it is a good thing you made it there. You are safe now." The girl stared at him and, even in spite of her tears, she gave him one of the brightest, sweetest smiles he had ever seen in his life.

"Yes... and it is all thanks to you, kind sir." The carver found himself staring at the child, simply stunned by how magnificent that little smile was. However, he gathered himself again, and smiled back.

"Like I said, I am only happy to help, little one," he said as he smiled. He glanced over to where the elder sister lay prone. "You said that she was injured correct? If I may ask, may I take a look at her legs? I am no doctor, but I could perhaps find a way to ease the pain." Perhaps it was bold of him to ask, considering he was requesting to look at a lady's legs, but perhaps if he could help in some way...

"I don't mind," the little one answered as she wiped the tears from her eyes. With this permission given, the carver knelt by the young woman and pushed the dress of her skirt up, stopping as it rose to just below her knees. He could see the burn-scars, standing out harsh-red on her calves and feet. Why there of all places he had no idea, but the burns fortunately did not appear to be too bad.

"Well?"

"Your sister is going to be just fine. The burns do not appear to be too bad, she most likely collapsed from exhaustion. She will be alright." The girl smiled in relief.

"That is good, I am glad to hear it. I thank God it was no worse than the burns."

"Yes, very good," the young man nodded. "I admit that I am no doctor, but I believe that a bit of rest will do her the most good right now. You must be exhausted, too, having to sludge through that rain and all. You and your sister can take my bed, if you would like." He saw her about to object, and he held up a hand to stop her. "No need to worry about me, I will be just fine here in my chair. I can begrudge my bed for one night, if it is to aid two of my fellow man in need."

"...Thank you," the girl smiled. "That is very sweet of you."

"No trouble at all," the carver replied.

–

When he awoke at the light of the next morning, he found that his back was aching fiercely, and he could barely move his neck from the stiffness in it. Memory of the previous evening came slowly for him, but when it finally returned in full, he made himself arise in order to check on his visitors.

However, when he went to see his bed, where two should have been slumbering, there was only one. There was a moment of surprise when he found only the eldest of the two sisters asleep in his bed. Then, as he went to see if the child was elsewhere, his surprise escalated to a mild panic, as he realized she was nowhere to be found.

He searched everywhere he could think to look: his woodshed, around behind his hut, the edges of the wood nearest to his home. Yes, for all of his searching and calling for the girl, she was nowhere to be found. As though she had been whisked away by faeries in the night, nowhere to be found. Or, more frightening, as if she had never even been there in the first place. He had just gone back in, just in case she had simply gone out and in while he had been searching, when he heard a voice as he reached the doorway of his home.

"Ah... pardon me, sir." The woman was awake, and looking directly at him. The simple carver almost felt the breath being stolen from his lungs, seeing her staring at him. With those sharp, intelligent, beautiful sky blue eyes.

"Oh, you have awakened, thank goodness," the carver gasped with relief. "You've awoken just in time, you sister has gone missing. Vanished into thin air, almost!" Her thin brows furrowed slightly at his words, and her lips parted ever so slightly as she gazed at him.

"My... my sister?"

"Yes that is right," he said hurriedly. He was worried, not only because the child was missing, but because of the other possible dangers she might face if she were all on her own. "Can you walk? If you can, perhaps you could help me search. If we split apart and looked, then maybe-"

"I...I do not have a sister." The young man paused, and looked at the face of the young woman. Her expression was one of utter perplexment.

"...What do you mean?" the carver asked after a period of strong, thick silence. "You must still be foggy from sleeping, I know you have a sister. That little blonde girl who dragged you in through the rain. She changed you into that set of my clothes that you are wearing, and took one of my shirts herself." Even as he said this, though, an eerie suspicion loomed at the back of his mind. On some odd impulse, he went and looked to where all of his clothes were stored.

All of it was there. He even went as far as to count them, and not a single one was missing, or even appeared to have been worn. And that included the clothing that he and his guest were wearing.

"I...I don't understand," he murmured in a slight daze. "I was sure that... and she was... and you..."

"I can tell you with all certainty, I do not recollect ever having any sisters, younger or older. Though..." here she bit her lip and appeared slightly worried. No, not worried really. More... concerned. "Though, honestly, I do not recollect anything of my family. Or my home. I...I believe I find myself unable to even recall my own name." The carver started and stared at her. "Not even your name?" he asked.

"I'm afraid not," she murmured in response. She appeared forlorn at this moment, and deeply in thought as well. It was such a beautiful, sorrowful expression on a delicate face such as her own. "I do not know who I am, nor do I remember where I came from or who I must have known. I cannot even recall how I came to gain these injuries on my feet. And, ashamed as I am to admit... I do not even have so faint a clue as to where I should go now..."

"...You could stay here, if you'd like." The blonde woman looked up at the carver. A sheepish sort of expression was upon his youthful, ruddy, and, frankly, quite handsome face. "I don't know how you came to come here, or why this is all happening as it is. But, no matter how strange the circumstances, I can't simply turn someone out into the open with nothing to help or guide them. If... if you'd like... you could stay here. Until you can find out who you are again... or until you are well enough that you'd like to go out and figure that out."

The woman stared at him a moment, piercing him through with those stunning eyes of hers. However, in the end, she gave him a smile, so sweet and open that he swore he could feel his heart flutter.

"...I would appreciate that very much... thank you."

–

The sound of cheerful humming carried out into the clear, open air of the deserted country road. The sun illuminated her as she swayed along on her way, cheerfully flipping her hair with a hand as the other balanced her gleaming, bronze blade over her shoulder.

"All's well that ends well, I suppose~" Caliburn chirped brightly to herself as she skipped up to a blooming rosebush at the roadside. She plucked up a single bloom from the twist of branches, and made quick work of flaying away the threatening thorns. A quick sniff sent a light, summer perfume into her senses.

Ah, how simple it had all really been. Humans really were _too_ easy to fool. A few simpering words, a shed tear or two, and an imploring look was all it took to make them putty in one's hands.

And what a beautifully simple thing it would all be. Eventually, the carver would discover that there was no destroyed village. The English had never even thought about coming this far south in France yet. With no home she remembered that she could return to, Joan would remain living with that carver.

Then, oh so predictably, an attraction would occur between the two. Joan's strong mind, simple beauty, and pure heart would have the carver absolutely smitten with her. As for the carger, his honest goodness and altruism to all would surely make Joan's eye linger upon him. And, as in the way of humans, they would most certainly fall in love. And from that, marriage and children would most certainly follow closely behind.

The clear-cut path this would all take was so predictable, it simply tickled the demoness.

"And so, they will spawn many children from themselves," Caliburn giggled. "One of which may certainly provide me with a strong wielder for a later generation's reaping. But~, until then, I shall leave their offspring be I _do_ hope that my lady will appreciate what I have done to find her a good place. I spent all that time looking, simply so I could find her a suitable mate to care for her~ I certainly hope she will be happy~"

Here she paused, and placed a finger on her chin.

"Hm... I must wonder, did I perhaps develop a bit of a soft spot for my lady? I _did_ put a lot of effort into making certain she had a place where she would be happy..." Her gaze was somberly serious, and she released a thoughtful sight.

In the end, however, she broke away from these thoughts. First with a snicker, then a hearty peal of laughter.

"Ahaha~ Oh, I really _am_ too much~ I simply _slay_ myself with such amusing ideas~" With more hearty laughter, she continued on down the road, twinkle in her eye and a spring in her step.

"Hehe~ Ah, well, enough of that~ Now, where shall I go to find my next wielder?~"


End file.
